A Joke About Life
by Cusith
Summary: A short confrontation between the Joker and Batman, pondering justice, life's questions, and the Joker's humanity. A cute twist as well. I wrote this when the movie first came out, which inspired it but it also has elements from the Arkham games. Just a little idea I wanted to play around with and share with you guys. (Optional: listen to "I Found" by Amber Run)


"I suppose now we are once again equals. _Oh_ is this not exciting!" He threw his head back in a strained fit of laughter, enamored with his own inside joke. He came down from it slowly, bowing his head to sulk to himself. Something reminiscent of sobbing escaped his deranged lips but it was far too corrupt to be human; Batman by experience could only doubt it's authenticity. If you thought at any time that horrible grin faltered, you'd be mistaken.

Like a sharp change in the wind, his menacing composure returned with a sharp intake. He straightened himself and smoothed his hair in one quick motion, snarling curtly. Standing over The Bat, his wide grin lept from radiant to malicious as he breathed softly through bared teeth, pondering, searching for _something._ From the ground, Batman saw a new perspective of how chilling he actually was. Never had he truly _feared_ him, but from this angle, there was an even more grotesque quality to his lunacy. In this vast room, the shadows danced at the edges of their illumination, The Joker's lean frame taking up whatever space was left as the sickly lighting bent around him in a twisted, mock halo. His frame was a featureless silhouette, save his broken grin where beams of silver light reflected 16 steel implants.

It clicked.

Batman's eyes widened in horror. _Is this what...?_ _Is this what he saw? Is this the last image to burn into his brilliant mind before…before...the Joker…_

"Jason..."

Joker bent down ever so slightly, his hands on his knees, soaking up the revelation. He purred like a lion, intoxicated by the abhorrence on the face of his best fiend. The Bat, propped on an elbow, could not feel the pain. He could not feel the searing heat that stabbed at his back where a deep bruise was forming. He did not care about the blood that pooled in his mouth and dripped to the concrete floor. He could not fight off the memories, the guilt, the-

 _...you let him down…_

The caped crusader, Gotham's Dark Knight, now shaken and frail on the floor, vomited as the horrid nightmares tortured his exposed mind with lies and truths and so many images. So many reminders.

The Joker, still as a statue, let out a long held breath and made a short, tense gesture with his hand, gripping at nothing into a tight fist. Another snarl, more frustrated this time.

"I hate to spoil the pleasant nostalgia, but this story isn't over, no, no, no…" He trailed grimly, walking a short distance to grab the spiked baseball bat off the floor, seemingly out of the shadows. He held it gently in his inked hands which had long lost their jewelry over the course of the evening. Wide-eyed, he gritted his teeth and began to swing the bat around aimlessly as he circled Batman.

Uncharacteristically conflicted, he looked to the ceiling and spoke with restraint. "To lose something. It is only natural we may both lose _something._ " He lined the bat up with Batman's skull which still hung low to ground. Like a switch, Joker's stoical smile turned savage within seconds as he viciously raised the weapon and smashed it into the hero's ribcage with all the potency of an oncoming car. Batman staggered on his elbow, tensing at the blow and finally collapsing onto his side. The Joker continued his pacing; placid and deliberate.

Cat and mouse never got old for him.

"I did enjoy that little bird of yours. Little dove, so far from the nest," he cooed, softly tracing The Bat's shoulder with the weapon, "like many delightful foul, he paired well with a glass of Bordeaux and the melody of a piano." He allowed himself a laugh at that, poking The Bat sorely where he struck him. The man hardly grimaced but it was enough to gain a screeching chuckle from the clown.

"Ah, but the best part is _not_ the main course. As much as I savoured his bravery and strength," he stretched his neck, parting his lips in contemplation, "it is his _stories_ that intrigued me the greatest. He truly believed that _he,_ this poor lost thing, this little image of yourself, that he, was a hero," he paused, pointing the end of the bat to the caped man's face, nodding as he stared into the dark, "that _you_ would come and save him." He nodded as he walked some more, his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

"He squawked for some time. Day after day, blow after blow. I was impressed. _Was_." He smirked, raising a shaven brow, "Remember when I said how people talk when put in compromising situations? Well, he talked alright. He squawked and talked and above all, he was convinced that you were a symbol of hope for the world. That _I_ was the evil one. That justice would conquer evil..." He cracked another amused smirk and tossed the bat to the ground, some ways from their dangerous dance. The Bat could not tolerate another one of his morbid preachings, instead he focused on the nausea that came in waves across his body.

"But after so much abuse at the hands of _monsters,_ you see, he lost that strength that I so admired. Shame." Pacing with his movements. Stalking with his words. Hunting with his eyes.

"You know, some nights, we bagged him and told him some stories of our own. My dear Harley is quite the doctor and she confirmed a suspicion that we had had for a long time, that our poor, little boy wonder, was horribly ill." Joker stopped circling and stood as still as his nerves would allow to explain with elaborate gestures and expressions.

"Oh don't worry Bats, our facilities are state-of-the-art. A few weeks into therapy and that illness just peeled away." He mimicked tearing the skin from his forearm. "By the end of it, he was begging for _you_ to stop. When one's eyes are wide awake, they may decide for themselves what is real, whether they are 'right' or 'wrong' but," he knelt down to cover The Bat's mouth with the pseudo-smile tattooed on his hand, "when one's eyes are covered, _blinded_ , how should they know where the hits are coming from? Hmm?" He moved back from his companion to sit cross-legged a couple feet away.

"All they know is they are deprived. Deprived of life. Deprived of knowing, of knowledge. Feeling." He stopped as Batman began to stir more.

"Your story," Batman coughed hard, sending blood into the air, "it has a point. You have something to say. _What. Is. It?_ " He spat, straining to look up at The Joker. Still sitting, the clown growled and dug his nails into the concrete floor, hunched over and teeth bared.

"Bent, the beast shows itself. But not broken. Let's see if we can't bend this bat a little more. Tell me Ratman, did you meet the Mrs. on your way to see me?" Joker enquired lightly. The ferocity in his eyes said different. The Bat did not entertain his question, merely keeping eye contact as he struggled through the coughing. Joker waved a hand dismissively.

"I know, I know, this must be difficult for you and I'm asking so many hard questions so save your breath," Joker threw back his head in laughter again as Batman's collapsed lung forced more blood from his heaving chest, "because this is where it gets good. You see, cameras capture everything. Your little scuffle with Quinn, quite the dirty fighter you are." Joker shook a pale finger at him.

"But that little broad gives it her all, and my, my, my, did she hammer your ass good before you stopped playing like a nice little boy. My itty bitty harlequin, fighting all of your bruting bulk? What a riot that was!" The Bat expected a laugh, but it never came. For seconds the Joker seemed truly pensive. Introspective even. "It was during that fight, that I realised something…can I tell you a secret?" Joker crawled closer, leaning over Batman's head with locked eyes.

"You see, my dear friend, we see eye-to-eye but to you, I will always appear upside down, away in my own world. _Of course_ my smile looks horrid to you; you only see it from the wrong side of the fence." He grinned widely and patted the cold floor next to them. "And I will always see you, down here in the filth. Down there with _them_. Down here, cold and dark, no fun, like you. Funny how things work." The Joker concluded, leaning back to smooth his hair. It was not what he said, or even how he showed the capability of self-analysis that sent a sudden chill down Batman's aching spine, no. It was the glimpses of sanity that he saw in the man. The kind of sanity that was real and purposeful. The sight you see only when staring into the abyss of a monster's mind.

And there was no remorse.

The Joker stood swiftly and strolled over into the shadows where Batman heard the rustling of file cabinets and boxes being sifted through. He was in no position to try and make a move whilst The Joker's back was turned. It did not help that he was reluctantly curious as to what his nemesis' speech was leading up to. Ultimately, he kept a close eye on the bat that lay a few yards from him. _If it came to that,_ he thought.

"After all those beatings, all that thought, all of _this_ ," Joker swirled his hand in the air, his focus still on the boxes, "I realised, now keep an open mind, that _I_ could not be the evil one here. In fact, the outcome of my doings are simply a product of a chaotic formula. _I_ do not make the choices, I simply play the game that is given to me. I am all about choice. _That,_ my clever Bat, is why I am the type of man to let my victim see, wide-eyed and free to decide where his loyalties lie." He paused briefly, if only to make sure The Bat had not fled before the grand finale, and to remind the hero who held the best cards in this game.

"Now you, you are the opposite. You like to blind people. You like to tell people what is and isn't. To make their choices for them. To distort their perspective by covering their eyes, roughing them up, then making sure they know it wasn't you who destroyed them, but whatever you people deem as _evil_."

"Then why did you do that to Jason!" Batman yelled with the little breath he could muster, fighting the pain, fighting for the truth. "Or Harley! Why did you take their choices? Why do you corrupt people for your amusement, and ruin the lives of hundreds-"

"I didn't ruin their lives Batman, that is where you're wrong!" Joker hissed with a tight smile, "Like I said, that is merely a _product_ of my actions. I make my move, and what do the sheep choose to do? Weep and whine and cry and bitch, blah, blah, blah. Take Jason for example. You had a good grip on his reins. Then, too much freedom for him to handle and after some struggle, he simply...faded away. Ms. Quinzel on the other hand, is one of my finest works, a grand display of my artistic ability. But for those keeping score, she didn't take much convincing. This truly is science at its core."

Batman had had enough, and he began to slowly push himself towards the lifeless weapon, reaching out with determination at its crudely taped handle. The Joker immediately stormed over to crush his yearning wrist under the heel of his spiked dress shoe. Batman took a swipe at The Joker's shin with his free arm but The Joker stepped back hastily and Batman's fist fell to the other side.

"This just never gets old." Joker mused before winding his foot back and again, striking The Bat square in the ribs, just above his previous mark. The Bat ceased his struggle, winded and gasping. "Are you a sucker for pain, Bats? I'm starting to think you enjoy this more than I do." He walked away, picked up something from the shadows and tossed it near Batman's face.

Unsure of its intent, Batman tapped into his last bits of strength to force his head from the floor and examine the item, no, items, that fell inches from his face. They were pale and blurry. Everything seemed so desaturated. As he desperately tried to decipher what he was witnessing, The Joker walked over, squatted down and held the items up for Batman, a deep growl escaping his throat. Both were fabric, soft and simple. Even in this gritty hellhole, they smelt of fresh linen. Not a stain in sight. No bombs. No blades, or metal besides the small buttons that lined the fronts. Then the colour came into focus. Not just blue cloth, but a pink one as well.

Baby clothes.

A melancholy air seeped into the atmosphere of the room, covering every inch like a fine dust. The Joker let it sink deep into Batman's vulnerable mind. The hero's eyes simply went between the two articles, perplexed and heavy. Another growl pressed at Joker's scarlet lips as he began. Harshly and calculated, he spoke, lowering the clothes to study them for himself.

"Crazy as it sounds, sometimes, chaos does make plans. Chaos itself, _produces_." His expression was flat. He did not bare his teeth. He did not smile. His eyes did not smile. He stood calmly, holding the clothing in his grip, looking between the two fists, teetering on the edge of self-control.

"A couple months ago, I was faced with some news so utterly insane that it ripped a gaping hole right through my own perception of everything. It lit a candle, if you will. A particular candle that I have tried so hard to melt for good. But," he sighed, narrowing his eyes at his fists, "no matter how hard I try, it stays there to _mock_ me. That damn doctor was so crafty. I thought I was having a damn good laugh at the time, but I did not anticipate that she would put me at the punchline. Years ago, I would have hated her for it. _I did!_ I _loathed_ her very presence. I laid a hand on her more times than I care to admit," he snarled heavily, forcing his eyes shut, grabbing at his emerald hair, "why _the_ _fuck_ do I care now!?" He seethed through gritted teeth, being viciously torn apart by emotions he thought he was above. His hissing turned to an inhuman shrieking, simultaneously piercing and a few octaves deeper than his usual voice. It seemed his own madness had betrayed him.

Shredded. He looked up, his mouth agape and face contorted in the most disturbing, unnatural expression of _something_. Not anguish, but something similar. His sunken eyes yearned to cry if they could. He extended a hand, almost as a plea for help.

"But alas…she stuck worse than hot glue and I slipped up...I just...let myself fall in..." He deflated, brows furrowed, his arms falling to his sides. Batman, as much agony as he was in, could not help but be more than astonished and frankly, concerned. This was not the same creature from moments before. This was not the man who spent years making his life a living hell, _just for the hell of it._

 _That woman,_ Batman thought silently, _he thought he was changing_ _her… but she broke him._

With a breath and a tensed stretch, The Joker continued.

"If I have not made myself perfectly clear for your petty, clever mind, our paths twisted and turned, meddled and intertwined, and our chaos...conceived a gift. Two, healthy gifts. I did not believe in reward or punishment until then. I still don't. But dammit, and I will say this _one_ time Bats, when she walked in, cheerful as a pup, she threw her arms 'round me and bawled her pretty eyes out. Ruined my jacket with her makeup. Now, mind you, she cries all the time but this was different. Pure happiness if I've ever witnessed it. And sure enough, that, _fucking_ candle went up in flames. How could I hate the mother of my-" Truly exasperated, Joker half-heartedly threw a hand into the air with an expression that was so incomprehensible, it was truly surreal. He seemed as though he may have a seizure at any moment, yet he was entirely composed.

 _He's lying._

With no expression, staring into the nothing with an unnerving stillness, he began, "Tell me Bats, did my little harlequin's tears ruin _your_ best suit when you tossed her against that drainage pipe?" There was no urgency to the question and despite its ambiguity, Batman felt that this story may be taking a decidedly darker turn. Meaning it was too late for a warning.

"Can you not feel the winds of change, Batman? Or are you already yearning for more?" The Joker cast his menacing grin, but there was no heart in it. There was frustration and a hunger to them, as though he may devour someone then and there if given the opportunity. But there was no heart. "From the camera room, that fight was quite….entertaining. Like a sports game, but funnier. Much funnier, in fact the _whole_ of it was incredibly humorous, I could hardly contain myself. I suppose you were too busy takin' care of business to put some thought into details, hm? Let us recap, then." The Joker raked his dirtied fingers through his hair, drawing a silent breath as he did so, the business-side reigning supreme as he began to gesture in the same manner he did to his clientele. Specifically the ones he intended on murdering.

For the second time, he walked to the wall of cabinets and fetched a small dagger from a shelf. As he returned to his toy, he pressed the knife into his thumb, watching intently as thick beads of blood oozed from the wound. Gently dabbing his thumb to his tongue, Joker revelled in his blood's unique acidity. "Did you not find it odd that such a fit, young woman could be so easily winded by hitting what amounted to a steel wall? Seemed pretty quick to run off too, don't you think?"

"What are you getting at?" The Bat threatened, regaining some of his strength. Saving it for the right time. Joker smiled, delighted at his friend's new interest to play. He looked at the blade in his hand, now tarnished with his poisoned blood. A controlled chuckled escaped his lips as he pondered the scenarios. He tossed the knife lightly, putting it within reaching distance of Batman. Naturally, Batman scrambled for the knife immediately, ignoring the immense pain and pressure in his broken ribs to rush The Joker, pinning him to the ground with the knife to his throat. The coughing devalued his attempt to intimidate, but he held the knife with strong stability, pressing the unsharpened edge into The Joker's skin. Below the knife, the inked saying ALL IN stared back at The Bat, mocking the irony of the situation.

"What's wrong Bats? You gonna give it _your_ all this time? Joker provoked through strained breath, pulling at the collar of Batman's cape to pull him closer. "Give me a break, we both know you won't do it. I just felt I was being a little selfish, you know? Hogging all the toys to myself. I must say, this is much-" With blinding speed and accuracy, Batman sent a curved punch into The Joker's jaw with the butt-end of the knife. Recovering quickly, as he always did, Joker snarled, pulling at Batman's cloak more which began to tighten at his throat. "That's more like it."

At that, Batman threw several more punches, but none as powerful as the first. His own internal wounds were impeding his efforts, forcing him to throw The Joker aside. He stood, staggering some as he grabbed frantically at his burning side. Still on the ground, Joker touched his fingers to his cheek, bringing them to his eyes to survey the damage. Slightly perplexed but nonetheless unamused, he leaned up gracefully as though waking from a nap. He trailed the end of his tongue at all of his teeth, intent on searching for bloodied, vacant spaces. Finding none, he cracked an enthusiastic smile and stretched his neck dramatically.

"I'm going to have to start charging you for dental work Batsy. Help a guy out and don't break these ones, okay? I really don't want to have to upgrade to gold."

 _Is this true..._

 _Is this real?_

Pain.

Pure, unadulterated pain all across The Joker's face and mind and body as though it was plastered in the ink of his tattoos. This was it. Somewhere in the darkest recesses of his broken psyche, this had hit the last piece of humanity he possessed. Or was he gaining humanity? How could one tell? _How could anyone even begin to guess?_ This clown, this criminal, this psychopath, the embodiment of chaos, this unbreakable, murdering, inhuman, monstrous, mad dog had feelings and hopes and dreams and he could see it, he could see all of it, everywhere and-

 _If he is telling the truth...if this loss, the single hope for his soul, was at my hand…._

… _.you let him down…_.

"Ha.." Low. Indistinguishable from a breath.

"Haha..ha...haha". The Joker's eyes rolled back, showing only bloodshot white scleras. Wide and awake. Blinded and searching. His Cheshire smile stretched across his face, blood and crimson lipstick in even balance. Metal and bone, his teeth stood in unison, all 32 of them. He threw his head back and opened his arms to the heavens. Pink and blue. Dark and light. Green and red. Metal and bone. Black and white. Good and evil.

 _Deprived._

"Hahaha…

HahaHAHA...AHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA

AHAHA **AH** **AHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAH**

 **AHAHAHAHAHAHA** **HAHAHAHA**

 **AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA**

 **AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA**

 **AHAHAHAHAH** _ **AHHAHAHAHA**_

 _ **AHAHAHAHAHAHHHHHHH**_ **!"**

 _Depraved._

Eight months had passed since the events at Arkham, and Gotham seemed to be returning to a normal routine. Gotham normal. Once again, the asylum was fully operational and all the inmates involved had been recaptured or transferred. Well, most of them. Dr. Crane and Killer Croc were never identified. Poison Ivy was rumored to have escaped some weeks following. Joker and Harley had disappeared as soon as their control over the hospital began to falter. There were rumors that The Joker voluntarily let Batman take the victory, though the truth never surfaced and no one dared ask.

Unsurprisingly, Joker came out of hiding after people began to forget about the incident, re-opening his widely popular stripclub as the playground for Gotham's criminal clientele as well as audacious thrill-seekers. Much to Batman's dismay, Gotham's corruption was still an ongoing war and it was evident when even the most wanted criminals could maintain a public life for the right price. Not that The Joker ever paid a dime if he did not want to. His emotional enlightenment at Arkham may have been a personal setback, but it did nothing to diminish his penchant for ruthlessness. Likewise, Batman never spoke of it; he could not bring himself to tarnish the reputation of the man who made _his_ life worth living.

Still, something had changed. Or had it? These things were always so complex. So many layers.

As much as Batman wanted to clean this city, to rid it of the crime that festered in the shadows and underground, he could not help but to feel a candle had been lit in him as well. Arkham was truly a test of his moral fortitude, especially when being faced with falling down the cliff he feared being pushed over. Every day he saw The Joker, walking around in broad daylight with other mobsters or making a mess of traffic in his lamborghini, he knew he was still dissatisfied with the state of his beloved city. He was slowly accepting the fact that he would never be satisfied. It was not an easy pill to swallow.

At the core of this internal conflict, Batman could not bring himself to destroy the life he nearly destroyed because, little to Gotham's knowledge, there _was_ still hope for its worst inhabitants. It has made Batman take to cautious observation of Joker's life, rather than direct interruption. And honestly, it's oddly comforting to The Bat.

On late nights, when music sprouts from the best of Gotham's nightlife and neon lights illuminate the darkest of alleyways, windows and softly-lit living rooms tell stories all their own. From the rooftops, one can obtain the best and worst view of hope for a better tomorrow. For The Dark Knight, the worst would not go without proper justice. Ironically, the best came from the city's most lavish, exclusive and offensively corrupt apartment complexes, namely The Joker's penthouse on the top floor. Because when he was not out crushing skulls, he was spending more and more time at home. Batman now knew that Harley Quinn was nowhere to be found, simply because she agreed to a noticeably more private lifestyle at The Joker's request. It was odd to see villains living such domestic double-lives, but to see the most feared criminal in Gotham come home to kiss his girlfriend on the cheek after a long day like any other businessman, was enough to warrant a little sympathy. In a beautifully terrifying turn of events, Batman never thought he would feel such personal relief to witness his most merciless foe cradling the product of his and Harley's 'meddling', with the tenderness of a curiously decent father. Not just one, but two, healthy products. Though, pink and blue turned out to be pink and pink.

Ultimately, they opted for custom purple onesies with their trademark jester skulls. If you thought Joker was above putting his brand on his own children, again, you are mistaken.

Not only did all of this make Batman's job considerably more complicated, it ended up being a pretty good joke too. In a sense, Joker made a decent argument all those months ago. If The Bat were to take away what his worst enemies had now, their family, would that not parallel his own tragic past? Would that not prove The Joker right when he said that he made people's choices for them? That there is no such thing as justice without evil? He did not want to be responsible for creating the next Joker. Or the next Batman for that matter. No matter how much they deserved it, Batman could not take away what was taken from him. More often than not, he actually found himself _looking out_ for them. Harley was a strong, nurturing mother, and Batman never saw Joker defend anyone or _anything_ the way he protected Harley and their infant daughters. So he settled for close observation. To top it all off, Batman did get something out of all this, for whatever it was worth:

Never in his life had he been so equally proud and horrified to be named Bat-Godfather. _That_ was a bad joke, but damn if it didn't put the stupidest grin on his face.


End file.
